The Heartbeat Thief (16 page)

When she emerged, it was breaking day, the cloud-covered sun bright enough to make her squint. Her locket was full to brimming, a noticeable weight about her neck. She hurried from the den, adjusting her hat, looking out of place amongst the brown and the grey and the dun of the people that trudged their way to weary work.

Like a peacock amongst the quail.

This part of the city had an eerie feel about it. A light fog wound its way like pulled cotton through the streets, clinging to corners and strangling the lamp posts where they stood. The thick air moved like a slugging stream, a living entity that dragged its clammy fingers against her bare skin. The fog was the oldest resident in this part of town and would be here long after every other resident had turned to rag and bone.

And Senza would outlive the fog.

In the days that followed her arrival, she took frequent walks as was her custom, although they were definitely of a different caliber than her walks in Chelsea or Surrey. She did not stroll at leisure, pausing often to admire one trifle or another, simply glad to be free of the claws of death. Rather, her steps were as hurried as any of the others, rushing from one place to another, dreading to be caught after dark. The copper daylight was harsh in Whitechapel, bringing to glaring notice every smudge of soot, every hollow-eyed child.

In the evening, daylight failed faster in these dingy streets. The night time was just as harsh, despite the looming shadows. Wherever the streetlights illuminated, Senza could see the creeping decay, making the shadows seem preferable by comparison.

The crawling mists were often coated with thick smoke from the countless chimneys, giving an unnatural solidity to the air. A person could hide within that air, concealed from light and sight by the fog and the smoke and the cloak of night. It could render a man nigh invisible.

But sight was not the only sense that Senza had. As foggy and murky as the night was, it merely muffled sound. She could still hear.

This late at night, there were only the nefarious sort about, those who dealt in businesses best kept from daylight’s reprimand. Solitary figures who plodded along, trying to entice a passerby to pause…couples clinging in alcoves or alleys, their harsh breaths sounding anything but pleasurable. They all avoided the hazy circles of light that broke up the blackness of the streets. The streets appeared nearly empty, but they were far from it. Someone else was nearby, and that someone was following her.

Senza stopped, and looked around. No one close by. No one that seemed to be looking at her. But the shadows…oh, the shadows and the fog and the coal-black smoke made plenty of hiding places. Someone was here. They just didn’t want her to know.

She resumed her walk, ear turned to catch the sound. So hard to discern a direction; the fog didn’t swallow sounds completely, rather it muffled them, coated them, dragged them down to muted tones. Whoever followed her counted on the fog to dim what noise they couldn’t hide. And the rest…

The unseen person kept pace with her, matching his footfalls to mask his presence. She knew it was a he, because echoes never sounded larger and heavier than the original sound.

Senza stayed her steady course, pretending not to notice. Alarm began to spread like a raging fever through her, making her arms and legs tingle. Men who followed women in this neighborhood most likely were not polite company.

She had known any movement about Whitechapel, especially at night was a risk. Simply coming here had stripped her of the last vestiges of decorum and the security that society oft provided. These were streets, where denizens had no time or energy to waste on propriety because they were too busy trying to survive.

Here, there was no golden cage, offering no safety net should she fall from her vulnerable perch. Such was the precarious nature of absolute freedom.

Senza was no fighter. She had learned no more of self-defense in her first eighteen years than she had in the thirty that had followed. The only weapons she possessed were her wit, her intelligence, and her will to survive.

She smiled, tight and grim. Whoever followed was unaware of just how strong that will was, or the lengths to which she’d gone to avoid dying.

Tonight would be no different.

She set as her destination the street lamp on the far corner. Murmurs of voices rumbled ahead in the dark; perhaps a pub was nearby. She continued her easy pace to the gas lamp and then stopped, adjusting her shawl and peering down the empty streets.

The footsteps continued along after her own had stopped, growing closer. A silhouette slid along the damp wall. The shadow grew in stature as it neared, until it broke the circle of light to reveal a broad man in a heavy overcoat and a bowler hat. Murky light struck the object in his hand, glinting in the raggedy velvet night.

A walking stick with a metal knob on the head.

He swung it, casual-like, the glow making a silver streak in the air. “In need of assistance, miss?”

Senza reacted as if she’d just noticed him, feigning a tiny sound of surprise. “Oh, no sir. I’m fine, sir.”

“Yes, you do seem very fine.” He strutted a circle around her, keeping to the edge of the dim circle of light upon the ground. “Too fine to be without proper company.”

Those words, at their level best, grated against her nerves. Her tone dropped several degrees. “I’m in no need of company, sir.”

“A lady as handsome as you, and dressed so fine?” He leaned closer, leaving his gritty scent hanging in the air around her. Cigar smoke, cheap spirits, and hair tonic—terrible habits in a hasty disguise. “Perhaps you are waiting for your company to arrive. Or perhaps…you’re hoping for unexpected company to present itself.”

“I am sure I know what you are implying, sir.” The chill in her tone added a coating of ice to the last word. “Let me clarify my disposition. I do not seek company, sir, not yours and not that of any other. I bid you a good evening.”

Tilting his head, he smiled, the lamp light glinting on his teeth. He looked like a dog, one that could go from licking a hand in one moment to biting it in the next. “My, such manners. You ain’t from around here. Can’t mistake you for a common whore, now, can I?”

Her temper flared, and she was unable to restrain the indignant tone of her anger. “How dare—”

“There is only one reason why a woman walks these streets alone in the thick of night. I am in the business of knowing why. So you’ll be a good lass and tell me—who’re you working for?”

She drew herself up and looked directly into his glassy eyes, her jaw set. “I work for no one.”

“Oh, yes, you do. In this town, you do. And if you have no employer, then I present my services.” He swept an exaggerated bow, keeping his chin aloft so his eyes never left her. “Denton Strickland, at your refined service. A pleasure to meet you, Miss—”

She did not supply him with her name. “Charmed, I’m sure. Your services being what, exactly?”

“I specialize in keeping women alive.” He cocked his head. “Oh, yes, a tough job in these streets, where accidents happen on a nightly basis. Carriage strikes and muggings, and the odd unfortunate strangled in an alley—not that anyone would mistake you for a whore, my lady. But criminals, full of drink and the blindness of opium, they often mistake fine women for disposable whores.”

He slid his fingers under his lapels, smoothing his jacket out like a dandy in a custom-sewn suit. “That’s where I come in. You can feel as safe as you please to walk these scenic lanes, to take in a spot of night air and enjoy the loverly moon, unafraid that some low-life is waiting in a shadow, sharp knife in hand, ready to steal a bit of your company before slitting your throat. Me and my boys, we watch out for our girls, we do, and they stay breathing.”

“This protection.” Senza struggled to keep the disgust out of her voice. Extortion. That would be a better word for it. “And just what does your protection cost?”

“A trifle, is all.” He brushed his soiled lapel. “Two pounds.”

It took substantial effort to conquer her indignant speechlessness “Two pounds—”

“Each week. And you live out each week worry free.”

“And these two pounds…” She narrowed her eyes, keeping her expression still. It wouldn’t do to pay him and flee. Money once shown would lead to a quickly emptied purse. “Exactly where do I get them? I don’t see a bank nearby, and the white church is dark, so I doubt alms are forthcoming.”

“Don’t play stupid. It’s unbecoming. Yeh get it the way all the girls get it. You accept company.” He smiled, a flash of uneven teeth. “You behave most accommodating and you give your company what they want and they pay you. And then you pay me. Easy peasy, duckling.”

“I am not a… and if I were—” She planted her hands on her hips and leaned into him. “If I were, I’m sure I’d find finer company down in the muck along the river than that which I see in front of me at this moment.”

“You talk lofty, love.” His voice dropped, low and gravelly and mild despite the threat. “Perhaps you don’t realize just where you are. This isn’t the palace, dearie, and it’s not the governor’s mansion. This is but one of many streets that winds its way down to the deep pits of hell. You, obviously, are new here in hell, and I’m a reasonable man. You ask around, ask about ole Denny, and get your opinion from them. You need me, and you need what I can do for yeh. Or else them—”

He tilted his head toward the opposite corner, where a silhouette stepped out into the bleary gas light. Another stepped around the corner and a third appeared behind him. “Them won’t be inclined toward protecting a lady. Them’ll be a bit contrary-minded.”

“Not as contrary as I.” Senza stepped closer, braving the stink of his skin. “I’ll do fine on my own, and I’m sure I won’t need to make your acquaintance again. Goodbye, Mr. Strickland.”

He nodded and licked his teeth, a half-smile. “You remember that name. And you remember my face. Because you will be seeing me again. You walk on these streets, you pay for it. Them’s the rules.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not one for rules. I’ve survived this long by avoiding them.”

“You can’t avoid me.”

“You’ll be disappointed to learn that I can.”

He swung his stick like a baton and tapped it on the ground. The sharp clack of metal on stone travelled through her bones. “We’ll meet on more pleasant terms, ginger. I guarantee it.”

“I did say
goodbye
.” She turned to leave, turning her back on him. A risky move. He was a man without honor. He could strike her down, crack her skull—could she survive a blow like that? Or would she have to live the rest of eternity with a dent in her head?

“It’s a bit more like
until we meet
, innit? Because you will see me again.” He tipped his hat in a parody of a gentleman before turning on his heel and swaggering into the cloaking fog of London midnight.

One by one, the men melted into the night, the rumbles of their menacing laughter chilling more than her bones.

She stood beneath the lamp for several long moments, and allowing her heart to thump once, partly in relief, partly in restoration. Perhaps she was done walking for the evening. Rounding the corner, she meant to head straight back to the inn.

“New here, ain’t you?”

Senza turned in the direction of the bird-like voice, a handful of musical notes that she traced back to a woman leaning against the wall. She hadn’t noticed the lone figure at first, the shadows deeper and darker in this part of town than any other. Such murky conditions were conducive to the commerce that transpired during these nightly hours.

The stranger pushed away from the wall, and the thin light from the gas lamps on the street picked out the fire gold of her hair, the bare shoulders and the tucked-up skirt that announced her occupation.

Ah. Senza pressed her lips together. An unfortunate. This was what Strickland had presumed her to be.

She remembered the manner with which the people in Chelsea had spoken of them, and she held her opinion. She’d make up her own mind.

“Nobody talks to them boys like that, none that mean to keep breathin’.” The woman sauntered closer, tugging her threadbare shawl up and around her shoulders. “Either you’re brave, or brainless.”

“I just don’t have much tolerance for men without manners.” Senza sniffed and cast a contemptuous glare over her shoulder. Her tone softened when she looked back at the girl. “And, I am new, I suppose.”